In a barn which has stood on the farm since my Great Grand Father's day, I opened up the lid of a trunk and took out a map of Scotland from a rummage of books and other stuff which I'd forgotten about. I closed down the lid and walked with the map in hand from the barn's dark interior outside to the overcast Irish day. The barn has 1896 engraved in a stone over the door, and at the time it is said, there was mirth and a barn dance to celebrate it's completion. It is well-built in local stone and the slat roof is still water tight, but it has outlived its usefulness as a farm building.

It opens into a garden which is now overgrown with long grass, nettles and bramble like the rest of the farmstead. There are apple trees which have overgrown, and a row of pine trees have grown tall blocking the view of the wild hills beyond. The farmhouse full of childhood memories is now empty and at peril from falling trees should a strong wind sweep down the valley. The tall trees at the rear no longer complement the place, blocking out the light, and the house looks sad now that my Ante and Uncle no longer live there. They also block a fine view across drystone wall enclosed fields to the wild hills which look best of an evening at the end of fine days.

On a table by an apple tree I unfolded the map. In the bottom left corner is the north east of Ireland with the city of Belfast and across in the right corner is the north of England. I gazed down and ran my finger along the road to Belfast where I would board a ferry to Scotland, then cycle east on the minor roads turning south into England. I still didn't have too clear an idea of where I'd be cycling to yet. It was then I heard a footfall in the grass behind me. I stood and turned seeing a woman aged perhaps sixty-five with long white hair hanging lose down over her shoulders and cut in a fringe over a handsome though time worn face. The turnout was completed by black jeans and a low-cut black tee-shirt.

Her first words were, this is a place steeped in time; whatever she meant by that, and she continued, I remember looking down at the front of the house one day and seeing a sheep walk-out the door. It's a pity to see it empty now. She was right on the last point, it is a pity to see it lay empty.

I explained that Is the nephew of the old couple that sadly are no longer with us; and she said, I remember many a day when pasting, looking down and seeing her stand proudly in the doorway. And he, I used to feel sorry for.

My late uncle was a stubborn man. He walked with difficulty in his old age because he hadn't taken care of his health and wouldn't hear of retiring, instead struggling on to the day he died.

The woman continued, I would see him walk along the lane with such pain, and then he'd have to walk back again.

The truth be-known, he perhaps laughed at her out walking for no better reason than walking. He grew up in a different time than the present and was happily stuck in his ways. He had a state of contentment hard for me to understand. He was well read and knew a lot about the world, but never traveled to any of the places he'd read about. In his day there wasn't the possibility to travel, so he never aspired to such.

Anyway while I wait for the solicitor to make good the inheritance of the farm, there isn't a lot I can do. I am still at the stage where I don't know what next, and hope after going away again that I will know.